


Carrot Flowers

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Surgery recovery, Trans Billy Hargrove, Trans Male Character, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Billy gets top surgery.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 257
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	Carrot Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettyboyporter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/gifts).



The alarm blares. Billy’s already wide awake, staring at the stupid batik tapestry on the wall. Steve stirs next to him, groaning. He fumbles with his phone. The noise stops for the moment. Steve usually sets like six alarms, because he’s horrible at getting out of bed. Today he set eight. 

He rolls onto his side and drapes an arm around Billy, nuzzling into his neck. Billy cut his hair extra short a couple weeks ago. Basically buzzed it except for a little fringe on the top. He’s not going to be able to wash it for like, at least a week. He didn’t want to deal with it. 

After alarm number five, Steve gets up. He goes to make himself coffee. Billy hasn’t eaten or drank anything since eight o’clock last night. He doesn’t take his meds. He just dresses in sweatpants and one of Steve’s loose button-downs. He’s got his phone and his wallet in his pocket and that’s it. He sits on the edge of the mattress and waits. 

His phone chimes at 7:35. Tommy’s outside with the car. 

“Steve. Put some goddamn clothes on.” Billy calls, loud enough for his voice to carry down the long hallway. 

Steve reappears. He picks up his skinny jeans and heather grey hoodie that are still rumpled on the floor from last night. No sex for at least a few weeks post-op. So yesterday, they started fucking as soon as Steve got home from work. It was a rare occasion Billy took his shirt off. Final debut of the tits. He even let Steve play with them. At that point why not?

They roll out of the house utterly disheveled. Steve holding a 32oz Yeti full of coffee, with sunglasses on, hair sticking up at all sorts of angles. It’s a little cold out. About 50 degrees, which is unseasonably nice for March but still. Billy should have worn a jacket. Whatever. 

He gets in the front seat. Tommy’s also got coffee and sunglasses. Probably hung over. It’s a Friday morning and Tommy probably didn’t get off his bartending shift until about midnight. He grunts in acknowledgement and hands over the aux cord as Billy pulls the door shut. Billy puts on  _ Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge  _ and lets the album play on the drive to the hospital. 

They’re quite the trio stumbling into the lobby. They all look like hell. A bunch of twenty somethings running on too little sleep and not enough caffeine. Billy checks in at the front desk and lists Steve as his emergency contact, as usual. He hands over a credit card for the $800 coinsurance. He’s lucky he lives somewhere insurance will cover it at all. He’s lucky he’s got a boring office job that actually gives him benefits.

They sit in the lobby on a stiff leather couch, Billy nestled between Steve and Tommy who both have their arms around him. 

“Did you get your final tit pics this morning?” Are the first words Tommy actually says between sips of his large Dunkin coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

“No,” Billy snorts. “I mean. I guess you can take some when I’m in the hospital gown.”

“Not exactly sexy.”

“The idea of you jerking off to my tits is incredibly unsexy either way, man.”

“I’ve sent you pictures of my dick.”

“Yeah, and I’ve sent you pictures of mine. Stop complaining.” Billy nudges him in the ribs. Tommy laughs. Spring is just around the corner. The freckles on Tommy’s cheeks are getting darker with the longer hours of sunshine. Even he gets pale during the harsh Chicago winters. 

Billy can’t wait to be on a beach shirtless this year. 

Steve kisses Billy on the top of the head. He’s resting his right ankle on his left knee and bouncing his foot. Billy passed out at around one. He wouldn’t be surprised if Steve was up till sunrise. He’s been an anxious wreck all week. A lot more worried than Billy is. It’s kinda understandable. On the off chance Billy dies under the knife, it’s just a fade to black. Steve’s the one who would have to deal with the loss. 

Also like, Steve just has the sort of anxiety that can’t really be medicated away. It’s gotten better since he’s been in therapy, and takes mood stabilizers, and all that jazz. He still has been prepping for this surgery like it’s the apocalypse. Food, straws, dry shampoo, extension cords, compression socks, benadryl, bandages, gause, alcohol swabs, so many goddamn pillows. Billy just let him do it. Let him be In Charge of it. If Steve can plan things, it gives him some sense of control, and makes him slightly less of an overbearing mess. 

Before too long, they call Billy back. By himself. They take him through the doors into a busy ward. It’s at least got real rooms instead of just curtains. The nurse leads him into one, gives him a hospital gown, tells him to take off everything else and put it in a plastic bag. She leaves. Billy strips. Writes his name on the bag. Then he just sits on the bed, staring at the wall. There’s a whiteboard with his name at the top. The name of his surgeon. Some scribbles he doesn’t really understand. The nurse comes back to take his vitals. After that, Steve and Tommy come in.

Tommy sits. Steve paces. He hovers. He holds Billy’s hand and squeezes it a little too tight.

“Keep breathing, please.” Billy snorts. 

“I am! I’m fine. I’m excited.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you excited?”

“I guess. I don’t know.”

“For real?” Tommy takes another gulp of coffee. “You’ve been like—planning this shit for three years.”

“So? It’s just like. Here. It’s happening. That’s kinda it.”

The anesthesiologist comes in. She’s a tall woman, with short blonde hair and a big smile. She gives him some pills to take. Says it’s usually better to start the meds early to help with any possible anxiety. She sounds very confident. Low-key, Billy has been dreading going under. Either waking up halfway through the surgery in an immobilized body, or not waking up ever again. This lady seems like she knows her shit. 

Maybe the drugs start to kick in pretty quick, because Billy’s smiling by the time she leaves. He and Steve take a selfie, with Billy in the gown. Tommy of course gets up too and leans in on the other side of Billy, sticking his tongue out. 

Next comes the surgeon. She asks him to stand up. She says she has to make markings, and asks if he wants Steve and Tommy to leave the room.

“Nothing they haven’t seen before.” Billy shrugs. 

He and Tommy kinda dated in college. Back when Steve had a girlfriend. It was never really that serious. They’re probably better as friends. They’re still really good friends, obviously. 

Billy slides the gown off his shoulders. The surgeon marks him with neat dashes, tracing the lines of his chest she’ll cut. He gets a little dizzy, whacked out on the painkillers. He sways a little. She helps him back to the bed. 

Everything is a little blurry. Steve squeezes his hand. A nurse wraps what look like large blood pressure cuffs around his legs. The squeeze rhythmically. 

Billy’s being lifted up. Rolling down a hallway, staring at the ceiling. Pleasantly dreamy. There’s a bright light overhead. A mask placed on his face. He slips into the dark so smoothly he barely notices. 

***

Dull throbbing. Billy blinks. Steve is standing beside him, petting his hair. Tommy is playing on his phone. A nurse comes in and says a lot of stuff, which Steve diligently listens to. Billy asks for more painkillers, which they give to him. 

He has to piss before they’ll let him leave in a wheelchair. Tommy opens the passenger door and helps him in. 

Billy must fall asleep because Steve’s gently nudging him awake. Guiding him through the front gate and up the stairs to their apartment. Tommy comes with them. 

Steve sets Billy down on the couch, propped up on a lot of pillows. He has Billy drink water through a metal straw. Billy isn’t allowed to move his arms above his head. He doesn’t want to move them much at all. He aches. There are ice packs under his arms and on his chest. A movie playing in the background. 

The next time Billy wakes up, Steve gives him pills to swallow and one of those weird protein cookies Steve’s obsessed with. Billy doesn’t really want the cookie. Steve insists. Tommy is gone. Billy drinks more water, resting the cup on the pillow in his lap. 

Adventure Time is on TV. Steve sits on the other end of the couch playing overwatch. 

Billy sleeps sitting up on the couch. Steve goes to the bed after Billy insists that he’s fine ten times in a row. 

***

It’s three days of painkiller fog. Sleeping. Not eating much. Half watching whatever Steve puts on the TV. Because of course, Steve doesn’t go anywhere or do anything but hover. Offering ice packs, water, food, blankets. 

It’s nice when he scratches Billy’s head, or massages his neck, or just rests a hand on his thigh. Billy wishes they could lie in bed, curled around each other. But he can’t lie down on his side. He can’t lie down, period. 

He’s wearing a tight white compression vest that zips in the front. There are two plastic bulbs pinned to it, with tubes that lead to holes in his sides. Drains. They fill with red and yellow gunk and have to be emptied twice a day. Steve does it. Squeezing the goo down into the bulb, dumping them into a plastic container, and measuring the fluid. 

It smells weird. Not exactly rancid, but not pleasant. Billy doesn’t have anything to compare it to. 

There are cotton balls sewn over Billy’s nipple grafts. He tries not to think too much about the surgeon mentioning the occasional complication of someone’s nipples falling off. Higher risk for smokers. Billy quit smoking last year, at least. He was a little surprised Steve didn’t dump him during the three and a half months he became a bitter raincloud that snapped at everyone all the time. Then again, Billy’s kind of always been a dick. The snarky comments seem to just roll off Steve like water. It’s equal parts infuriating and a massive relief. Billy doesn’t know what he’d do without Steve. Like, Steve’s a neurotic space case and, bless his heart, a complete moron. But his hair is so pretty and his heart is so goddamn full of love, he manages to stumble through life without much issue. Billy leans on him heavy to stay sane. 

They’ve got one functional adult between the two of them. Billy makes sure the utilities get paid on time and the dishes get done. Steve makes the world less sharp and grating. Instead of trying to fight everyone and everything because life is terribly unfair, Billy curls up in Steve’s lap and the shitty parts of existence fade to background noise.

Billy goes back to the surgeon’s office on day four to get checked. She says he’s healing nicely. He’s allowed to take a shower if he keeps his back to the water. 

Of course, Steve helps. 

Billy unzips the vest and hangs it on the door knob. He holds the bulbs of the drains in his hands as Steve runs the water until it’s warm. 

It feels so good to step into the spray. Billy has felt so gross. He usually goes insane if he can’t shower every day. Most of all, his back has been trapped in the vest. Sweaty and constrictive. He groans in relief as the water patters against him. 

Steve gets in the shower too. He massages shampoo into the short curls on the top of Billy’s head. He gently tilts Billy back to wash it out. Then he lathers up the Irish spring and washes Billy’s back. His hands feel even better than the water. Billy sighs, smiling. Marinating in the pleasant heat. 

Steve’s hands wander. Washing Billy’s shoulders. His stomach, his thighs. Billy jolts a little when Steve parts his ass cheeks. 

“Just being thorough.” Steve’s voice is low and a little raspy. 

Billy inhales sharp. He’s flooded with heat. They can’t fuck. There’s no position that would work. Even if he’s suddenly hornier than he’s ever been in his life, he shouldn’t risk bad scarring for a few orgasms. 

Steve doesn’t push his fingers in. He steps back and lets the water wash all the soap away. 

He helps Billy dry off and get his sweatpants back on. Billy returns to the vest he’s starting to resent. As they walk back to the couch, Steve pauses. He puts a finger under Billy’s chin and tilts it up. Their lips brush together, soft and sweet. 

“I love you,” Steve murmurs. 

It makes Billy feel a different kind of warm. Squirmy and fuzzy. Embarrassed and pleased. 

“Shut up.” He wrinkles his nose. Steve knows what it means.  _ Love you too, dork.  _

***

At seven days the surgical tape comes off. Billy has to put silicone gel on the scars. Steve also has to go back to work. Even though he offers to start burning through his sick days, Billy tells him to buzz off. 

Billy sits on the couch, computer on a lap desk, playing Dark Souls. He’s not good at it. But he’s got the personality that makes him bang his head against the wall until he breaks through it. 

He eats a lot of microwave meals. Steve can’t cook for shit and Billy can’t even lift a pot up to make spaghetti. He has to use a step ladder to get dishes out of the cupboard because he’s not allowed to lift his arms that high. 

He goes on a couple walks. Real slow, it’s a little painful if he moves too fast. He’s also bad at opening doors. 

At least he can shower by himself. Can’t wash his hair, but he can be free from the sweat and grime for a little while. Even if it’s just that much worse to put the vest back on. 

The drains have less liquid in them. It’s mostly yellow gunk that reeks instead of any watery blood. 

Tommy comes over a couple times and they take edibles. Billy isn’t allowed to drink. They watch dumb movies and Tommy complains about work. They walk down the street to get tacos and the fresh air is heavenly, even if Billy’s still moving real slow. 

“So like, how's it feel to be flat?” Tommy asks before taking a huge bite of carnitas. 

“Good, I guess. Like. I look a lot better in the mirror.”

“Hell yeah, bro.”

“It’s weird. But also feels right? I dunno.”

“Do you miss them at all?”

“Nah.”

“Cool.”

It’s no secret that Tommy liked Billy’s tits. He liked playing with them. Squeezing them. It never did much for Billy. He was glad Steve didn’t seem to care about him keeping his shirt on during sex. 

Tommy pays for the tacos and they walk back to the apartment. Billy’s tired. He falls asleep with his head on Tommy’s shoulder while they watch the Halloween remake. 

***

The nipple dressings come off. The drains come out. It hurts a little, but not too much. Billy has to put band-aids over his nipples and the little slits where the drains were. He still has to wear the vest, but he can sleep on his back. It’s annoying because he usually sleeps on his side. Still. It’s nice to be in bed again. It’s nice to have Steve beside him. They can’t really cuddle still, but Billy can feel his body heat in the few inches that separate them. 

Billy is insanely horny. Like, squeezing his thighs together almost gets him off. He ends up putting a pillow between his legs and grinding on it more than a couple times when he’s bored in the middle of the day. He wants to get out his vibrator, but he knows that’s a bad idea. He’d be too rough. Get too into it. He still has to be careful how he moves. 

Steve is obviously jerking off in the shower. And sometimes in their room when Billy nods off on the couch. He wakes up and Steve’s not there. He hears the soft slick noises and heavy breathing. It makes him so wet. 

They make it about halfway through week three. 

Right after Billy has showered, when he still hasn’t put the vest back on, Steve kisses him. It starts off slow. Then gets a lot more heated, with Steve’s hands on Billy’s hips, squeezing tight. He’s careful, doesn’t let their chests press together. Steve’s so tall he has to hunch over when they kiss anyway. He’s groaning into Billy’s mouth. His hard cock bumping up against Billy’s thigh. 

“Can I… can I go down on you? I’ll be careful. You can just lie there. You don’t have to do anything for me.” He sounds so desperate. Almost whining. 

His big brown puppy eyes are really hard to resist. 

So Billy ends up on his back, knees bent, feet fat, hands fisted in the sheets, with Steve’s head between his thighs. Billy is soaked. Steve has always been good with his tongue. He gets Billy off in record time. Maybe like, a minute. Ninety seconds tops. Steve doesn’t stop. Keeps right on licking while Billy shudders. 

Steve slips a couple fingers in. Billy clenches around them. His abs tense repeatedly as his cock throbs and his whole body seems to pulse rhythmically. It feels so fucking good. Billy wants to cry. 

Billy might be actually crying. He’s at least making a god awful racket. He knows the neighbors hate them. They must have been enjoying the couple weeks of respite from the loud, sloppy sex. Because usually he and Steve fuck at least once a day. It tends to carry on for quite a while. Billy is insatiable and Steve is generous. Steve can also get it up again pretty quick, so like. They usually get a couple rounds in once things start up. 

Steve’s just so hot. His dick’s so big. Billy’s always been a size queen. He loves how Steve feels in his pussy and in his ass. He just wants to come on Steve’s dick all the time, basically. 

So when Steve lifts his head and says, “Do you think—if I’m really careful—maybe just the tip?” What’s Billy supposed to do? Say  _ no? _ Screw that. 

“Please,” Billy groans. “Want it. Put it in me.”

Steve sits back. He strokes himself, staring at Billy with an intense hunger. He lines up and slowly sinks in. They both gasp. 

It’s been a while. Billy’s tight. It stings a little. Steve grabs onto Billy’s thighs. He stays upright, slowly thrusting. Just working the head of his dick in and out until it glides smooth. 

“So good, baby,” Steve grunts. “God, you’re perfect.”

Billy feels far from perfect. He’s still got wide hips and thick thighs. He can’t grow an actual beard. Just a fuzzy moustache. But he feels better than he ever has before. Getting fucked shirtless, with nothing bouncing on his chest. Steve’s looking at him, at the fresh scars and bandaged chest with nothing but lustful adoration. 

Steve’s the one who’s perfect. He’s tall, skinny and awkward. His fluffy brown hair always falls into his face unless he puts it up in an absolutely cringey bun. His lips are soft. His voice is soft. His heart is soft. He’s always taken Billy as he is and seemed giddy about it. 

“C’mon,” Billy rocks his hips. “Gimmie more.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. All of it.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He fucks into Billy deep. It’s an incredible stretch. Being stuffed so full. Almost painful in just the right way. They’ve measured before and Steve’s packing like ten inches base to tip. He seemed amazed the first time Billy got on top of him and sank down all the way. Billy wasn’t shy about it either. He rode hard. Fucked himself stupid until he squirted everywhere. Steve was slack jawed and entirely blissed out. 

They’ve got chemistry. Billy lights up wherever Steve touches him. And Steve always wants to touch him. Really, it’s a wonder they manage to feed themselves and the apartment doesn’t fall to ruin from neglect. 

Steve‘s stroke game is excellent. Thrusting in fast and hard, dragging back out slow and then fucking in deep again. Billy comes without a hand on his dick. Squeezing around Steve so tight he has to pause for a moment. Billy is gushing. He can feel the wet spot underneath him. He’s shaking. Squirming. Steve gasps as he starts to move again. Quicker now. Pounding into Billy the way they both crave. The mattress springs squeal underneath them, not quite covering up Billy’s moaning. 

_ “Yes. Give it to me. Please. Fuck.” _

“You want it in your ass?” Steve sounds almost feral. 

Usually he’d be flipping Billy over at this point. Pinning him face down, dragging his hips back, stretching him with a thumb while still pumping into his pussy. Billy usually comes when Steve abruptly switches holes with just a little lube, just enough so they don’t tear anything. It took some convincing to get to that point. For Steve to stop being so damn careful. Billy likes it rough. 

They obviously can’t do it quite like that at the moment. But the sense memory is almost enough to push Billy over the edge again. 

“Please,” Billy whimpers. “Want you to goddamn wreck me.”

Steve pulls out. He fumbles for the lube, which usually

lives on the floor beside the bed. He traces a circle around Billy’s asshole before pushing two fingers in. He works a thumb over Billy’s dick as he swirls his fingers. Billy is tense. His chest aches a little. 

But then Steve’s slicking up his cock and pushing in. Billy sees stars. Can’t breathe. Steve gives him a moment to relax. It hurts. The dirty, tingly pain that makes Billy so hard. 

Steve rolls his hips, still rubbing Billy’s dick and the hurt mixes with pleasure. Billy wonders if he’s gonna rip the sheets with how hard he’s clutching at them. 

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice is pure sandpaper. “Who owns this ass?”

“You do.” Billy still flushes at the stupid dirty talk. He kinda hates that it gets him worked up. 

“That’s right. You’re all mine. My perfect little slut. Love it rough and deep, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” Billy’s breath hitches. 

Steve fucks him harder. Billy probably sounds like a cat in heat as he comes again. He squirts. Steve growls. 

“There you. Come on my dick, baby. So goddamn tight. Gonna fill you up. You want it?”

“Yes.”

“Gonna breed this ass. Fuck.” Steve pumps in fast, barely pulling out. He’s panting. Chest flushed. Hair a mess. 

Billy loves him so much. It’s terrible. 

Steve pushes in deep as he can and stays there as he comes. Moaning low and long. He doesn’t pull out right away. He stays there, eyes closed, mouth open, marinating in the sensation. 

“We’re probably gonna have to put you back in the shower,” Steve giggles when he opens his eyes. “Aaand I should change the sheets.”

“Probably.” Billy feels loose and fuzzy. Kinda high. Boneless. Moving sounds terrible.

“Damn that was good, though. We’re great at sex.”

“We really are.”

Steve pulls out. Billy winces a little. He doesn’t like feeling so empty. It’s uncomfortable when all the slick starts to cool to room temperature.

He lets Steve help him sit up. He lets Steve rinse him off in the shower. He puts on some shorts and the vest and settles onto the couch while Steve cleans everything else up. Steve appears before long with a bowl of popcorn. He puts on some movie. Billy’s not paying attention. He’s just leaning against Steve’s side and breathing. 

***

Finally, the vest comes off. Billy doesn’t have to bandage his nipples anymore, he just has to put scar gel on them. One of them looks pretty normal. The other is kinda weird shaped. The scars along his pecs are starting to fade already. 

Going back to work sucks. But a couple people stop by Billy’s desk to ask how he is. If he’s happy. Billy is pretty happy. Like, measurably above baseline. He figures it won’t last forever. But he’s gonna ride it out while he can.

He can drink again. So the first Friday back, he and Steve go to Tommy’s work and get plastered. Robin and Heather make an appearance too. They haven’t been dating super long, though. So they’re kinda just staring into each other’s eyes and giggling a lot instead of actually socializing. Of course, after a few beers Billy’s pulling his shirt up to show off his scars. After the bar closes, he and Steve hang out while Tommy cleans up and wipes down bottles. They all take a Lyft back to Steve and Billy’s apartment.

They smoke weed, and listen to bad music, and Billy falls asleep during a movie. He wakes up in Steve’s arms, being carried to their room. Tommy’s passed out on the couch. 

Steve sets Billy down and turns off the light. He snuggles up, wrapping his lanky body around Billy, kissing his neck. Billy’s too tired and drunk to fuck. But it’s nice to be held. He never really liked cuddling before Steve. Their bodies just seem to fit together so well. And y’know. Feelings and crap. Billy has more feelings than usual when he’s been drinking.

“Hey,” Billy murmurs as Steve nuzzles under his chin.

“Mmm?”

“I love you. Or whatever.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Billy falls asleep easy, even if he still has to lie on his back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never!


End file.
